


Did I Let You Go Outside Like This This Morning?

by wheres-mickey (peijou)



Series: Bedtime Stories [2]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Anal Sex, Fluff and Smut, Frustration, M/M, although not really, sort of, withholding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-22 05:50:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3717514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peijou/pseuds/wheres-mickey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They try to do it old fashion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Did I Let You Go Outside Like This This Morning?

**Author's Note:**

> So here we are. 3k words of solid porn *uncomfortable laugh*

_There's still so much to_ do _here_ , Ian thought with a helpless, consternation-filled sigh, scrubbing the kitchen's tiled walls hard to get rid of the dirt accumulated there.

The place's overall cleanliness did get much better ever since Ian decided to make the situation his problem, but no matter how much of his body and soul he was donating to this cause, there was still this residual smell of piss that kept drifting in the air every now and again that made him want to tear his hair out. Ian didn't want to know what it was that the previous householders had done for it to stink like that, but fuck them. Oh, and fuck Mickey for making fun of him, saying he was just being an old English maid with obsessive care; even Ian hadn't grown up in the most hygienic environment but yo, they weren't pigs,  _Jesus_.

So their apartment probably wasn't the best. Probably just the average shithole you can afford when you're some penniless Southside trash. But Ian didn't mind. The two of them were finally together; everything and everyone else could just get fucked for all he cared.

He leaned back, wiping the sweat that pearled from his forehead with the back of his wrist, and went back at scrubbing even harder. Ian had this theory that cleaning could improve he general happiness of a household, and maybe the motive was naive, but he certainly wasn't going not to give it a shot. It was keeping his hands busy while he waited for Mickey to come home, at the very least. And just as Ian was starting the last section of wall, Mickey did just that, the characteristically loud _bang_  of their front door making Ian stop the obsessive careness to look briefly over his shoulder.

"Hey, how was work?"

"Work was a bitch and a half," Mickey replied with so much fight in it had Ian chuckling, "and I'm tired as fuck."

"Yeah? Do you w--"

He was about to suggest a quick bite and early sleeping. He really was. But then, he turned completely to face Mickey and his plans vanished into thin air at the same time his jaw hit the floor. He dropped his sponge on the floor, abandoning the stupid and impossible task of cleaning walls all at once to settle for the much more enjoyable activity of staring at Mickey instead.

"Wha'?"

The older boy was undoing his shoelaces, his outrageously sexy black tank top showing the defined muscles of his arms, his messy hair stuck in the air and his sweaty, very lickable skin slightly tanned thanks to hours of outdoor work (it took eight years of relationship for Ian to witness suntan on Mickey's skin; seeing it was just like someone whispering  _everything is possible_ in his ear. It helped, sometimes.), a pair of gorgeous blue eyes watching Ian intently as the latter seemed to have lost the power of speech.

Flush and heat climbed up the back of Ian's neck. He was trying to remain calm, though, rational, thinking about this was just a trivial, banal activity; but did he need a reason to be enticed by Mickey anymore. And dear god, those muscles moving right under Mickey's skin were lethal.

"Nothing, it's just... I'm sorry, but did I let you go outside like this this morning?" Ian asked, stunned, eyes following Mickey on his way to the fridge.

"Yeah, why?" Mickey replied mindlessly as he opened the door to grab a beer. Too focused on peering a hole into Mickey's body, Ian barely caught the one he tossed his way.

"Because, this is unacceptable," he began, and Mickey paused to give him a side-look.  _Fuck_ him, he groaned inwardly. Eight solid hours of work in the baking sun had him beaten and he sure as hell didn't deserve to be reprimanded after earning his bread legally--because that's a thing hot-as-balls summers do, they make you all sweaty and irritable. But then Ian carried on and Mickey's eyes almost popped out of his head, because well, that certainly was not what he had expected, "you're way too sexy to go out like this and make people go all thirsty on you."

Naturally, Mickey choked in his beverage. "What the fuck, Ian," he mumbled, trying to hide the bashful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth; failing.

Ian wasn't sure if he liked the shy look, but he sure as hell liked the face attached to it. As Mickey was busy trying to hide his gradually redder face behind his bottle, Ian walked all the way towards the spot where he was standing and snatched it from him. He ignored the way Mickey froze before him ('cause, c'mon, nobody touches a working man's duly deserved beer) and put the bottle down onto the counter.

Without any warning whatsoever, he groped Mickey's crotch and leaned over to nip on his earlobe.

Mickey gasped, cursing inwardly the bulge in his pants for giving him right away. Ian leveled their eyes and whispered softly, though somehow menacingly, "bedroom. Now."

Mickey watched, mesmerized, as Ian pulled away and, true to his word, went to the bedroom, peeling his t-shirt off on the way. He breathed again (because he had apparently stopped to at some point, when Ian had his hand on his shaft probably) and took a last gulp of his beer before jogging behind him, thinking about how there would be a time not to look too needy but how that time had yet to come because Ian was too sexy not to jump at the opportunity--literally, he hoped.

When he reached the door, Ian pulled him inside and almost threw him onto the couch, which made them both giggle because they were twenty-something goofballs like that. The door was closed and effectively locked within seconds. That wasn't of any use since they were alone, but it had the courtesy to inform Mickey that things were about to get wild.

But when Ian started undoing his working pants off hastily, Mickey suddenly remembered the state of utter dirtiness he was in thanks to work ( _fucking legit work, scams are so much less messy_ ). Reluctantly, he pushed his boyfriend's hands off his chest, hauling himself on his knees.

"Gotta take a shower first," he said apologetically and tried to leave the bed over Ian's body and protests.

But his boyfriend had other plans for him; he stretched his giant leg out for him to trip on it and tackled him onto the bed with a thud, wrapping his hands around his wrists to prevent him from moving. "You're not going anywhere, Mickey Milkovich."

Mickey blinked. "But, I'm disgusting? You can come, if you want," he suggested. But even at that, Ian shook his head. And that was how Mickey understood how damn badly his guy wanted to fuck him dirty, turning down such a mouth-watering offer. Not that he ever considered himself mouth-watery but. He certainly would give it a thought if Ian suggested such a thing to him. He meant, sure, he'd have to pretend to be annoyed first--but he'd definitely give in.

"You got some dirt kink going around that we need to discuss?" he asked slyly. "That'd explain the whole cleaning-up obsession lately."

"Don't pretend we never did it," Ian replied instead. His eyes were darkening at an alarming speed. "We used to do it all the time."

Mickey stilled at the mention of their past, fucked-up relationship.

True. When they first hooked up, in Mickey's room, then in the Kash N Grab, being very dirty never prevented them from being very horny too, and doing something about it. They would fight to the ground and fuck to the same very ground right after that.

He never minded dirtiness that much eiher. But as a civilized human being, and mostly because being with the cologne-smelling redhead all the time had started making him feel very conscious of his borderline body odor, Mickey had started showering regularly and fucking dirty hadn't occurred much anymore from this point on.

"It'll be fun," Ian added, very single-minded as always, eyes still locked with Mickey's, and licked his biceps to prove his point.

Whatever. Mickey shrugged and took his tank-top off. Maybe he was slightly relieved Ian didn't care about him being dirty (or rather wanted him to be), because it would have been a sheer pain in the ass to go to the bathroom in his current state of hot-and-bothered-ness.

Hopefully the pain in the ass would still be caused, but from a different source. Maybe his cock twitched in his pants at the thought just that little bit. He tried to shrug off how painfully hot he was for Ian (not like the redhead had no idea) and leaned eagerly for a biting kiss.

Only all his lips found was air.

He frowned, trying once again; but Ian pulled away again.

This time, Mickey sat up, raised two hands in question while shaking his head in incomprehension, his eyes narrowed.

"Wait," Ian murmured under his breath, "I've got an idea."

Mickey, and especially Mickey's erection, didn't have time for ideas. "What?"

"Okay," Ian said, sitting up straight and looking at Mickey with bright, dilated eyes, "We are going to fuck like we used to. When we first met."

Mickey gave him a weird look. "What do you mean, like we used to?"

"No kissing, not much touching, lots of fucking."

That'd be the Brutal Style, then.

It had been so long since they had last tried the Brutal Style. Sure, sex was still wild and all, but it had evolved somehow. The no-intimacy policy Mickey had made a point to implement at the beginning of their relationship had loosen up to the point where eight years later, they were sharing the same bed in the same house and touching and kissing and almost cuddling (Jesus Christ). Ian got him to; always pushing him further out of his comfort zone.

So Mickey figured he wouldn't mind old-style fucking. That was the one style he enjoyed. If anything, Mickey was making himself a favor by accepting.

So, obediently, he nodded his head and let Ian strip him while he was busy working on Ian's belt.

Both Mickey and Ian realized how awkward it felt not to kiss or mark each other between every single move. But they kept away.

Mickey sat against the wall, leaving Ian the room he needed to do whatever he wanted--though not too much. Because Mickey always wanted to be the one in charge back then. Until he came to recognize that the redhead had some significant skills he shouldn't be neglecting for his own good, that is.

Ian got the message. He was pretty quick to grab Mickey's cock. "Sorry, no BJ allowed," he muttered as he started jerking him off.

Mickey was so surprised by the tight grip he curled up against Ian, his head pressed against his shoulder. He was biting hard on his cheek, trying not to moan; failing and breathing hard. He kept his hands on the sheet, resisting the urge to wrap Ian's neck to get him closer.

When Ian twisted his wrist at the end of a long stroke and ran an expert finger on the so sensitive top, Mickey tipped his head against the wall with a sharp breath and landed his outstretched arms on Ian's freckled shoulders to stay grounded. He fought hard against his instincts in this very moment not to bow his head and leave love bites all over Ian's pale, beautiful neck, because this stupid Like The First Time game probably wouldn't allow him to.

All it took was at the very most a dozen strokes before Mickey was spilling in Ian's hand in a strangled choke.

They looked at each other for a split second, and the No Kissing Clause was getting fucking impossible, Ian thought, as he gazed at Mickey's post-orgasm blissful smile and the tongue he ran on the corner of his mouth. He could manage not to kiss the expression away, he tried to convince himself. He used to be able to.

Before he could mourn too long anyway, Mickey was on all fours, his ass deliciously facing Ian.

"Get the fuck on me, Gallagher."

Now, Ian couldn't complain. It was exactly what Mickey had said the first time, and certainly what the redhead craved to hear now. "I want you so badly," he couldn't help but reply.

Mickey reached around his back to slap Ian's butt, "No dirty talking, dickhead."

"Alright, no spanking then."

"But we don't spank," Mickey scowled, trying to turn his head towards Ian.

"We could, though," Ian suggested as he slapped Mickey's right ass cheek sharply enough to leave a scarlet red mark on the now raw skin, and _fuck_ , Mickey had to bite his lip again not to moan.

Spanking wasn't maybe all that bad after all. He should definitely get Ian to try that on later. Preferably without sounding too desperate. "But not tonight, I get it," Ian resumed and Mickey had almost forgotten he had been talking in the first place. "Silent sex, right." Ian nodded and held Mickey's left hip with one hand, taking his sweet time to caress his cheek gently with the other to soothe the mark, before getting back to business.

He glanced down at Mickey's hole, pink and beautiful as always, and welcomed the fact that he'd be filling that hole in a few minutes. He could already feel its warmth around him and the way it always swallowed him _so_ fucking well. If the sounds Mickey tried to mute while Ian was jerking him off didn't make Ian hard yet (which it did), he sure as hell was now.

Full of that amazing feeling of anticipation, he wasted no time in lubing his fingers and slipped one inside the other man (they didn't use to foreplay much either). Mickey arched his back to push onto the hand, and grunted quietly when the second finger joined in, stretching him steadily. Ian felt the exact same eagerness than eight years ago, in a weird yet good way.

Ian scissored his fingers to make sure Mickey was well-prepared, but there was no denying that he was much more trained in the matter than at their beginning. He was quick to kick Ian with his heel to let him know that he was ready, realizing only too late that they wouldn't wait for each other's signs at the beginning of their... whatever thing they had together, but thought what the fuck.

Ian opened up the cap of the lube bottle and warmed some between his palms before taking care of his dick. Oddly enough, considering the billion of times he had been doing it, Ian was overwhelmed when he guided his cock inside Mickey's hole. He kept his grip on Mickey's hip and steadied them by placing the heel of his right hand on the older man's shoulder, and pushed evenly until he was fully inside.

The feeling was so insane they both needed the time Ian gave them to adjust.

After what felt like an eternity, Ian started to roll his hips against Mickey. Slowly, at first. Mickey felt the erotic pain of his nails digging in the flesh of his hips as the redhead was dragging his cock back and forth inside him, almost from the bottom to the very top. They had just started but Mickey could already tell he was running short of breath and getting hard all over again. The dirty slapping of their skins was not helping either, as it pushed Mickey dangerously further towards the edge.

At age sixteen, after he...  _met_ Ian, he wanked regularly thinking about this. The dirty, arousing sound of flesh slapping against flesh in rhythm and the difficult breathing all this physical activity ensued. He was so glad he met Ian because he was the best wanking material he ever had--though having actual sex with him was a thousand times better. Now was the best.

When Ian hit Mickey's prostate, much easier to find now that he knew his body so well, Mickey's body reacted right away. He moaned and tightened his grip on the sheets. Ian picked up the pace, and the older man arched his back to the point where he was almost pressed against Ian's chest, his leaking cock as hard as it could possibly get.

Mickey folded his arm and grabbed Ian's neck from behind, trying to get the two of them to feel the burning friction of their bodies slamming together. He was not even bothering to contain the way he panted Ian's name anymore. He was panting and hot and _kind of expecting a kiss_.

But Ian put an end to Mickey's rebellion, forcing him back on his elbows. He reached out to stroke Mickey's forgotten cock that was aching for some relief, but the rejection made it soften a little in his hand.

Ian jerking him off was so good, it was still and always so fucking good, but there was something missing, something that was so much better. Mickey liked it when Ian rested his forehead on his back or kissed his shoulder blades when they had sex. He tried to intertwine his fingers with Ian's to get him to understand that he wanted some more contact, but Ian took his hand off the mattress and landed it on Mickey's back again.

Mickey complied, but hated the way this chest tightened at the new rejection.

He let Ian press him into the mattress, one hand in the middle of his back, even if that meant more distance between the two of them. Until he thought about Ian's hands on him again. He wanted Ian's hands on him _so badly_ , craved the taste of his lips, and that was a shitty realization but he was apparently a co-dependent partner like that now. Shit, Ian's touch was a drug and Mickey was an addict.

So he used his hands to touch himself. It was mortifying, but he didn't have much choice since Ian was way too much into the Like (Not So) Good Old Times role-play to give him the satisfaction, and himself was too much of a stubborn shit to admit it out loud. He had never taken the time to care about his own body before Ian did. He was the one who made him discover where his body responded, when he thought a quick fuck was all it needed.

He tried every spot that made him feel so good when Ian touched him. Still filled by Ian who was fucking him hard and good, pushed against the mattress, he ran a hand on his lower-stomach, trailing it down to his inner thighs, and tried to imagine Ian's hands instead. He thought using his own hands would do. But it was different.

And then, _fuck it_ , he thought.

Fuck the game, fuck him eight years ago for taking forever to realize he loved everything about Ian, starting from his hands to the look he had when he was fucking him, like Mickey was worth a million of fucking stars and like he thought he was the luckiest man on earth to be with him.

(Which was crazy because Mickey never ever loved anyone half as much as he loved Ian.)

Fuck everything a thousand times.

"Fuck," he grunted, as he pulled out completely.

Ian gave him an alarmed look, but before he could say anything, Mickey was shoving him onto the mattress so he was lying flat, positioned himself over his cock, and pushed all but slowly until he was completely seated and picked up where they left; only this time he grabbed Ian's face with both hands and kissed him as if it were the last time they'd ever kiss.

"Fuck, Ian, touch me," he panted helplessly when he came up for air, squeezing his eyes shut to prevent the shame from overwhelming him too much, his forehead resting on Ian's.

Ian gaped. He hadn't seen the hints; but he certainly didn't need to hear it twice.

Fuck the game indeed, he'll give Mickey Milkovich what he wants.

He put a hand on Mickey's back and switched position again by flipping them both so he was on top, Mickey's legs resting on each side of his waist.

Both of his forearms bracing Mickey's head, Ian thought he was going to come solely from looking at the brunet because he looked so _needy_.

He managed to slow his orgasm down effectively so as to stay with him longer, complying when Mickey looped his arms around his neck to force him to lean in for another kiss, letting him suck on his bottom lip. He deepened the kiss, while Mickey's fingers were running both gently and possessively through his hair.

Ian pushed the sweaty locks away from Mickey's forehead to stare into his eyes and kept kissing him while rolling his hips against him, their hot breaths brushing over each other's face as they came up for air. Fuck, Mickey was so beautiful, and greedy enough for Ian's touch to let him know it even, though he hated to blurt out his feelings. Ian knew that made him feel vulnerable. But he did it anyway.

"I love you so much," Ian panted between his lips because Mickey needed to know, and normally Mickey would have frozen at the spurt of affection because it was a _bit_ too much, but something flipped in his stomach, and he was so close to his climax he simply groaned and kept one hand in Ian's hair, the other on his muscled back and nudged his nose in the crook of Ian's neck.

Slapping and moaning, hands never leaving off each other, Ian's mouth sucked on every tiniest spot of skin he could find while Mickey was giving Ian the hickey of his life, until Ian moaned loudly and Mickey felt his come spurt inside of him; he clenched around him to milk him as much as he possibly could, savoring the moment where he could see his expression as he came on top of him.

It didn't take long for Mickey to join, arching his back against the mattress once again because of the intensity of his own orgasm and pressing his chest against Ian's to feel him closer while his world exploded in million of pieces, splattering both of their stomachs with his come.

It took them a moment to recover for the monumental fuck. Once the last shivers over, Ian gave up and slumped over Mickey, rolling slightly on the side not to crash onto him completely. They were both panting like wild animals, Ian not even bothering to pull out just yet. Mickey didn't care much, really. It still felt good.

When the both of them winded back, Ian eventually pulled out, slowly so as not to hurt Mickey, and reached for a tissue to wipe them down--and Mickey wondered how the fuck he could move so quickly after such an exhausting, albeit wonderful, fuck. When he tossed the tissue at the foot of the bed, Mickey put a hand on the back of his head to drag him for another kiss. It was a slow, deep kiss that lasted long enough to make them both shiver as they pulled away. 

"Fuck me, we're never doing this no touching torture ever again," Mickey said under his breath as he fell back into the sheets.

"Yeah..." Ian said with a grin as he collapsed beside Mickey, before wiggling his eyebrows. "I could deal with the lot of fucking, though."

Mickey laughed and shook his head lazily. "No fucking way. I know your crotch is made out of fire and all that, but I still gotta work tomorrow."

How the fuck they managed to deal with the no-touching way of having sex before was beyond belief. Mickey was just glad Ian got him to switch for what they were doing now because fuck if that wasn't the best feeling ever. Maybe the afterglow was making him all soppy and shit, but man did he really love Ian.

"Go take a shower, you stink," Ian teased, and clapped his thigh.

Mickey shook his head again. He wasn't even sure he would be able to move ever again. Even as he sat, he could still feel Ian inside of him--not that he was complaining. "Tomorrow," he sighed, and when he saw Ian's disapproving face, he rolled his eyes but gave up on mentioning the fact that Ian was the one who had insisted on keeping him dirty to fuck him.

"Tomorrow, and maybe I'll let you come," he compromised with a smile, before adding, as a second-thought, "in the shower with me, I mean."

A bit unnecessarily, Ian thought.

He had every intention to make them come  _in_ the shower, and they both knew it.


End file.
